GRANT
THIRTY-SEVEN
I don’t know what time it is.
I don’t know if it’s day or night.
I don’t know how long I’ve been in my room.
Hours?
Days?
Minutes?
I don’t want to check my phone. If I do, I’m afraid I’m going to see that someone else I love is hurt, and I can’t take more pain.
I roll onto my side and squeeze my eyes shut. I try to block out the memory of what happened, but life’s not fair. Everything starts to play like a horror film I can’t turn off. I have to relive each excruciating detail. One exhale, and I’m back in the middle of the club.
Dancing. Drinking. Passing the Cup around and taking photos with it.
Laughing. Acting like idiots until there’s a loud noise from across the club.
Someone screams. I whip my head around, trying to find the source of the noise.
The music cuts off. Maverick is in the middle of the dance floor on his knees with his phone pressed to his ear.
“Emmy,” Hudson and I say at the same time.
Tears stream down his face. I drop to my knees and shake Maverick’s shoulder.
“Hey. Hey! What’s going on?”
“It’s Riley,” he wails. His phone clatters to the floor. His chest heaves, and he buries his face in his hands. “He was in a car accident, and they aren’t sure if he’s going to make it.”
Another gulp of air, and I’m back in my room.
It’s a nightmare I can’t wake up from, and I grab a pillow. I shove it over my head, trying to rationalize and make sense of what happened to Riley.
He’s alive. He’s alive, and even though he might look different, he’s the same guy he was before. You need to be strong for him.
But then I hear Maverick’s wails again. I hear the sound of ambulances outside the emergency room while we waited for news, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get those noises out of my head. My stomach clenches in pain. Darkness looms around me. I sniff, inundated by a fresh wave of tears.
The team will never be the same. Riley will never be the same. I’m close to sinking deeper into despair, to wandering off the path toward devastation, but a noise from down the hall stops me.
I pull the pillow away from my face.
Someone is knocking on my apartment door, and I don’t want to see them.
“Leave me alone,” I yell, hoping they can hear me.
There’s more knocking, and I want to scream. I have to physically drag myself out of bed when the banging doesn’t stop.
I rub my eyes. My throat is dry from the alcohol and crying. I don’t know when I last had something to drink. I sway on my feet, unsteady on my walk down the hall.
It’s probably Hannah or one of the guys coming by to check on me—Hudson, if I had to guess—but I don’t want to see them.
I don’t want to see anyone. Solitude is best, and anger—so much fucking anger—boils in me.
Anger at the universe. At myself for not going with Riley.
At the driver who hit him and tried to flee the scene.
I grab the door handle, fury rising to the surface when I rip it open. “I said leave me the fuck—”
I freeze. The words come up short when I see Amelia standing in the hallway with a suitcase at her side.
“Lia?” I whisper. My eyes move over her, wanting to know if she’s real or some desperate apparition I’m trying to dream up to cling to some normalcy. Light blue sweats and matching long-sleeve. Pretty blonde hair and bags under her eyes. It’s her. It’s really her. “What are you doing here?”
“You said you wished I was here.” She hesitates, dips her chin. “So, I came.”
I burst into tears. A wretched sob escapes as I reach for her and practically drag her inside. The door slams shut, and she drops her purse on the floor. She lets go of her suitcase so she can wrap her arms around me. Warm, comforting.
I bury my face in the crook of her neck. The scent of her perfume tickles my nose. I hold her tight, pulling her even closer. Closer means I can keep her safe. Closer means she won’t get hurt too.
An exhale loosens its way out of me. Her fingers brush against the ends of my hair. Her palm rests on the back of my head. She presses her thumb into my neck, and my body relaxes. It stops fighting, stops trying to figure out what’s next and just… is.
Being held like this by her is the calmest I’ve ever been. I’m relieved. I’m revived.
It’s coming home after a long day, and this must be what heaven feels like: weightless. Serene. Beautiful.
“I’m so sorry about Riley,” she says, not letting go. “I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through, but I wanted to tell you in person that I’m here, however you need me.”
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” I untangle our limbs when my nose starts to leak. I get snot on her shirt, and I want to cry again. “Sorry. I’m a mess. Let me clean that up.”
“I don’t care about my clothes, Grant.” She reaches for my hand, squeezing my palm tight. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I haven’t had anything to eat since before the game.”
“That was sixteen hours ago.”
“It was? I had no idea.” I wince when pain radiates across my forehead. “I’m not sure if my headache is from dehydration, hunger, the alcohol still in my system, or depression.”
“Probably all four.” She leads me to the living room and guides me to the couch. A blanket gets draped around my shoulders. The curtains are pulled shut and a lamp is turned on. “Do you have anything for breakfast?”
“Eggs, maybe? But they might be expired. Haven’t been to the store in a week. Now I understand why Hudson has a personal chef: so he doesn’t have to figure out what to eat after a goddamn tragedy.”
“I’ll take a look. Stay right here.”
Like I have anywhere else to go.
Amelia disappears. I stare at the floor and try to process what’s going on.
She’s here. In my house. She flew across the country because I called and said I wanted to see her. That I needed to see her. My aching heart sputters in my chest, and I know no one, not a single fucking person for the rest of my entire existence, will ever mean as much to me as she does.
I’d rather be alone forever than try to replicate the way I feel about her with anyone else. There’s no possible way they could compare, and when she reappears holding a glass of water and two Tylenol, it’s the first glimpse of light I’ve seen in hours.
“Here.” She hands the offerings my way, rubbing my shoulder when I down the entire glass of water after swallowing the pills. “Are you warm enough?”
“You don’t have to do that,” I mumble. The pounding in my head is unrelenting. I could sleep for three days. I also want to throw up. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” Amelia fluffs the pillows behind me. I sink back, the exhaustion and grief nearly suffocating me. “It’s okay to be weak for a minute, Grant. To let someone else take care of you. You’re strong all of the time, and this doesn’t change that.”
“I’m not strong enough to fix what happened. Everything I’ve known for the last five years is gone. I’d give up the Cups, the money… all of it if it meant Riley didn’t get hurt.”
“I know.” Amelia sits next to me. An arm over the back of the couch, her feet crossed on the cushions.
It hits me how perfect she looks in here.
Like she should be here every day. “The bad news is you can’t turn back time.
The good news is he’s alive. You can put all your energy into the what-if’s, or you can focus on that fact.
And one day—maybe not soon. Maybe not for a while.
He’s going to be back to his old self, and he’s going to need you to help him get there. ”
“Yeah,” I croak. “I guess that’s true. It’s scary how fast things can change, isn’t it? Life doesn’t care if you’re a Stanley Cup champion or a random guy from Alabama. When things are supposed to happen, they’re going to happen, and people are going to get hurt in the process.”
“None of us are making it out of here alive. What you choose to do with your time, especially in the face of pain and suffering, is what is most important.” Lia leans back.
When she struggles to find a comfortable spot for her legs, I lift her feet and put her calves in my lap.
Her smile is the nicest thing I’ve seen since I hoisted that trophy over my head last night.
“You all played a great game, by the way.”
“You watched?” I ask. “I thought you might have caught the highlights on SportsCenter.”
“Of course I watched.”
“I’m glad.” I drop my hand on her shin. My fingers move over her sweatpants, and silence settles between us. “How long are you staying?”
“As long as you need me. I didn’t buy a ticket home yet. We have a meeting with management next week to debrief the season, but other than that, there’s nothing that needs my attention back in Denver.”
“The spare bedroom is made up. If you want to stay.”
“Is that okay? I don’t want to be in your way while you process everything that’s happened.”
“Amelia.” My palm moves to her knee. Natural, like I’ve done this a thousand times, but I don’t linger. I drop my hand away and sigh. “Winning last night was great, but having you here is even better. I can get you a hotel room if that would make you more comfortable. Just let me know—”
“No,” Amelia interrupts. “The spare bedroom is perfect.”
“Okay. That’s decided,” I say. Weak and vulnerable with no handle on my emotions, I start to cry again. I’m torn between being grateful for her while being heartbroken about my best friend. This is so fucking unfair. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” Her arms are back around me.
“I wish it were under better circumstances, but I’m happy to help.
I want to help, and that starts with food.
I didn’t have a chance to look through your cabinets, but I’m going to do that now.
I’m really hoping there’s some pancake mix buried in there. ”
“Pancakes.” My laugh is jilted. I’m more alive now that she’s next to me. “Your everything meal.”
“I know it doesn’t help to fix the bigger problems, but it’s a step forward. Even when it’s hard, Grant, you need to keep moving forward.”
Amelia squeezes my shoulder, but she lets go before I can get too comfortable in her hold. One touch from her, and the world quiets. Her bright smile and the hopeful way her gaze tracks over my face are the first sense of relief I’ve felt in hours.
Peace, my mind whispers when I close my eyes.
That’s what I feel when she’s with me.